The Journals of Glinda Upland
by ToastWeaselofDOOM
Summary: 25 years after the death of the Wicked Witch, a young Fliaan hunter stumbles upon a cabin on the edge of a lake. He finds inside two bodies and a writing desk full of handwritten journals. He starts to read the journals to identify the two bodies-and discovers a tale almost too extraordinary to believe. [Gelphie; Book/Musical/Headcanon; Character Death]
1. Journal 1

**A/N:** This fic is based on an RP I did with my girlfriend, wickedspeed (denpa wave chick saki here on fanfiction).

The journal entries begin 10 years after Elphaba's death, 15 years after she "defected" from Oz. The dates are based of the 1939 movie-so the date Glinda is writing from, 1949, is ten years after Elphaba's death.

The story that is told from the OC Teryn starts 28 years after Elphaba's death, and 13 years after Glinda's journal entries begin. (Teryn is 13)

This fic will be HEAVILY GELPHIE, and will be a mix of book, musical, and headcanon (although mostly book). It is being crossposted onto the tumblr_ thejournalsofglindaupland_. Chapters are considered "journals". If you have any other questions, feel free to ask!

Hope you enjoy it! :)

* * *

**Journal 1**

It had been long, hard hunting trip, full of narrowly missed shots and fires that would not start, and Teryn just wanted to return home. But the winter was coming, and if he returned home empty handed, his family would not eat for the next month.

He knew there was a lake nearby that was fed by snow melt and a few natural springs. Perhaps he could nab a deer who stopped to drink. He packed up his camp, took up his bow, and started his long hike down the mountain, following a happy burbling brook until he cleared the trees. He stuck to the tree line, an arrow nocked on his bowstring, watching the swaying poppies ahead of him for the telltale sign of deer.

Seeing nothing, he looked around, debating between climbing a tree and curling up to wait, or hiding in the poppies. Eventually the tree won out. He scrambled up it with all the dexterity of a Monkey, then settled down, a new arrow nocked. Teryn could see all the way across to the lake, and for a moment he watched the dying poppies sway in the breeze before turning to scan the area.

All of was quiet and normal—except for a box in the middle of the poppies. It was dark and square and Teryn was insanely curious as to what it was doing there. Was it a trap? Had he stumbled into the hunting grounds of someone else? What would you catch in such a box? It was too small for deer or bear…perhaps raccoon?

Despite his curiosity, the boy stuck to his tree. Hunting was more important. Nightfall was approaching and twilight was the best time to hunt deer. However, no deer came to the lake that night, much to Teryn's displeasure. He slept fitfully in the tree until dawn when he decided to cut his losses. He slid down the tree then, because the curiosity still burned inside him, went to go inspect the box.

He pushed through the poppies, their drying stalks crunching as he walked. Eventually he found the box, only to discover it was not really a box at all. It was an apiary.

The boy had seen them before—the beekeeper of his village had a cluster behind his home. But it was obvious this one was old and disused—the wood was weathered and gray, and some animal had broken into it, scattering the bees to the wind. A shame, Teryn would have loved some honey.

Curiosity mostly sated, the Fliaan started towards the other side of the poppy field. He had just begun to walk along the game trail that wound its way up the hill when he heard a growl. He froze, hand tightening on the grip of his bow, and looked toward where the growl had come from.

A huge black wolf was standing a bit up the path, hackles raised, staring at him with yellow eyes. Teryn held back a squeak of fear. He'd never been so close to a wolf before.

"H-Hello?" he called, hoping to the Unnamed God that he'd encountered a Wolf. "Are you a Wolf, or a wolf?"

The wolf—for it did not respond, so he figured it must be just a wolf and not a Wolf—stared at him for a long time. Then it slowly settled back on its haunches and turned, walking back up the path. Teryn watched as it walked to the top of the hill—barked—then continued over and out of sight.

The boy could not believe that had just happened. Cautiously (and probably with incredibly stupidity) he crept up after the wolf, hand still firmly on his bow with an arrow nocked. When he topped the crest of the hill—which he later realized was actually just a swale- he saw a small house nestled along the tree line.

The house must belong to the owner of the apiary! Teryn realized excitedly. He hurried across the flat area, past an abandoned stable and chicken coup, to the side door. It was wide open, and instantly the Fliaan realized something was wrong. Who left their door open like that?

"Hello?" he called then held his breath, waiting for someone to answer back. Nobody did. He tried again. "Hello? Anybody here? Excuse me?"

Again nobody answered.

With a sense of foreboding, Teryn pushed the door open a little farther with his foot. When nothing happened he cautiously entered the room on the other side. It was a small kitchen, with a door and ladder to a loft directly opposite him, a stove to his left, and wood cabinets and countertops to his right. It was neat and orderly, if a little dusty. Obviously it had not been used in some time.

The Fliaan saw there was a doorway to his right so he walked through it and into a front room—two chairs and a table sat by the front window, while two armchairs sat by the empty fireplace. The walls were lined with bookshelves, obviously hand hewn, one filled with books, the other candles and trinkets, and still others jars and bottles of Oz Knew What. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, cloaks by the door, and an axe, shovel, and fishing equipment leaned in a corner.

It was a beautiful little sitting room, Teryn thought, but it still did not explain why the house was empty. Surely the owners of the house—for there must have been two, with such a set up—would not leave such a well-furnished house without locking it up.

There was a whine and Teryn looked to see the wolf sitting in the doorway he had just entered. The wolf looked almost sad, and when they made eye contact the wolf whined again.

"Why are you here?" Teryn asked the wolf. "Did you know the people who lived here?"

Another whine, and the wolf walked out of the doorway, towards the secondary side door. Teryn followed, and was amazed to catch a glimpse of the large, black wolf vanishing up the entryway into the loft.

"Am I supposed to follow you up there?" the boy asked, already putting his bow around his neck and climbing.

When his head cleared the port, he caught a glimpse of another bookshelf, a small writing desk, and several baskets, but his attention was immediately drawn to the bed—and the two skeletons that lay entangled there.

Instantly, Teryn felt bile rise in his throat and he had to look away.

The owners of the house were dead in their bed!

He began to back down from the ladder but was stopped by a sharp bark. Before he knew what was going on, the wolf had grabbed him by his tunic and tugged him fully into the loft. A whine, more tugging, and Teryn found himself at the edge of the bed.

The boy forced himself to look up at the bodies. They were both completely skeletonized, to his relief. They had obviously been dead for some time. Skeletons he could deal with—partially decomposed human bodies he could not. He respectfully inspected the two. They entangled in each other—one large one and one obviously much smaller one, half covered by dust-covered and moth-eaten sheets. They must have been lovers, for neither one wore clothing.

"Who are you?" Teryn asked the two skeletons, as if they could answer back. The last people he knew of living in this area had been mauled by a crazed bear before he had been born. These two could not possibly be the same, for they looked like they had both passed away in their sleep, rather than had their limbs ripped limb from limb.

He turned to the rest of the room for answers. The woven baskets held clothing—neatly folded (if dusty) cotton dresses in one, a mixture of dresses and mens work clothing in the other. Not much to say there, no names written inside, so he turned to the bookshelf. As he looked through the books he noticed the wolf had curled up on a flattened and derelict cushion of some kind beside the bed.

Who keeps a wolf as a pet?

While all the books on the shelf were interesting—spell books and herb books and books on healing and even a few on architecture—they held no names or marks of identification. Frustrated, Teryn turned to the writing desk.

It opened at his touch and revealed several pots of ink, pens, and a row of neat journals along the top. The leather of the journals was green and slightly faded, with dates written on paper and then pasted along the spine. Teryn reached for the first one, dated almost thirty years prior, and opened it to the first page.

In curling script along the middle of the first page were the words _'This journal is property of Lady Glinda Upland._'


	2. Journal 2

**Journal 2**

* * *

_The leather of the journals was green and slightly faded, with dates written on paper and then posted along the spine. Teryn reached for the first one, dated almost thirty years prior, and opened it to the first page._

_In curling script along the middle of the first page were the words _'This journal is property of Glinda Upland.'

* * *

Teryn's head nearly leaped out of his chest. Lady Glinda Upland! The ex-leader of Oz who had vanished one night from the Emerald City Palace and had never been heard from again! He had learned about the incident in neighboring Oz during a history lesson when he was young. The disappearance had happened just after he had been born. Many had speculate she had been kidnaped or run away from her duties, the Ozian matriarch had never been found.

Shaking, Teryn looked over at the bed, then back at the journal in his hands. Was it Lady Upland who lay in that bed behind him?

He turned the page in the journal and saw more of the same flowing cursive that marked the journal as Lady Upland's. Curious he began to read.

**March 15, 1954**

I wish I could start a new journal with better news, but it seems I am cursed. The nightmares have, of course, continued. They always do around the Anniversary. And they are, of course, always worse. The pills can only do so much….I did not sleep last night.

To make matters worse, Quox is being difficult again. That is to be expected, I suppose, but it is driving me mad trying to negotiate with them for the release of the Vinkan hostages. They refuse to budge, wanting to know what Vinkan soldiers were doing in Quox before they offer any sort of deal. I would also very much like to know why Vinkan warriors were doing so far from home, but the Vinkan's won't tell me, so I can't mediate very well either way. I still do not know how I ended up as the middleman but…it seems here I am.

I need some air. I need to find the time to get away to the soup kitchen, hopefully sooner rather than later.

* * *

**March 17, 1954**

It seems the soup kitchen must wait. The advisors want to begin planning a third Ozian Tour. As if I'm not dealing with the Qoux issue already. Oz is apparently getting restless from the tensions between Quox and the Vinkus—meaning that it is time for Glinda the Good to make her rounds, to calm the unwashed masses and bring hope.

Which means traveling by carriage for days at a time. I used to love to travel. Now it has just become a bore.

I must meet with Anita to begin discussing my wardrobe choices for the Tour, because what I wear in certain places has a placating (or incendiary) effect on the people who live there and see me. It all depends on what I wear, the cuts, the fabrics, the stylings.

If I had more time I would most like to study the effects of fashion on others—it is fascinating stuff. I'm sure Elphie would be appalled that I've undergone such mind deception, but I can't very well sit on a powder keg, can I? I've done what I could in Elphaba's name. I try to work in it every day…but sometimes, I can't both please my advisors and live in remembrance of Elphie.

Speaking of Elphaba, I've been a week without taking the hallucination potion and I'm pleased to report I've had no return of the images. But the nightmares….they are getting worse. The Anniversary is the day after tomorrow, so it's no wonder. I wonder if I'll be able to sleep tomorrow or the next night?

I plan to slip away to the soup kitchen then. The streets will be full of revelers, drunk as sin. Nobody will recognize me, especially if I don trousers, abstain from makeup, and hide my hair under a scarf.

It's amazing how easily you disappear when you remove from yourself your most distinguishing characteristics.

* * *

**March 18, 1954**

It's raining. I can hear it pitter pattering against my window. Technically it's the morning of the 19th, but I don't care. The nightmares woke me up, and then the rain kept me awake.

The rain reminds me of Elphaba. It was one of the only things that terrified her.

Maybe it brings me solace because it reminds me of when we curled up and bed and listened to the rain outside, but we were safe and warm and dry and did not know the world was actually an unfair miserable wretch of a place.

* * *

**March 19, 1954**

Elphaba is alive!

I … I can't believe it. I am not sure if I can put the night into words, because it was just that extraordinary. I'm full of so many emotions—happiness, anger, confusion, hurt, love…

Oz…

I went out after dark—midnight or so—to the soup kitchen. I wore my trousers and blouse, had my hair up, and my best worst cloak… it's no wonder she did not recognize me. Nobody else recognized me, but they were either too drunk or too drugged.

And then I rounded a corner and I quite literally bumped into her. I did not recognize her, either, not at first. Lots of people dress up and paint themselves green for the Anniversary—I thought she was just another reveler. But then she stepped in a puddle and swore quite extensively—and I heard her voice!

Then I thought she was a hallucination. Because they always look and sound just like her. But they never touch me…. I swore and screamed and told her to go away—as if that works for mirages—and I almost went straight home to take my pills.

But then Elphaba grabbed my arm. She grabbed my arm and asked me why the dignified leader of Oz was pretending to scream at walls. Asked me if it was for my amusement.

I watched her die. I saw Dorothy Gale throw a bucket of water on her and watched as her body melted away.

I think my heart stopped when she touched me. I'm fairly certain I stood and gaped at her like one of those fish in the pond. She was there in front of me. Her clothes were fraying and torn and falling apart, her cloak was so thin it was practically nonexistent... She was gaunt and pale and weather beaten, her lips were chapped, her hair knotted, and when she spoke her voice cracked as if it had been unused for a very long time….

But it was her. Still taller than necessary, still with those beautiful brown eyes, and still green as sin.

My Elphie. My Elphaba Thropp. Alive.

So much happened after that.

I got angry. I screamed at her. I said horrible things. All the emotions from ten years just spilled out….I ranted and raved and swore and I slapped her. (My hand still hurts.) And we shouted at each other, and I shoved her some and then…then I cried. And she held me (awkwardly) and nuzzled my head (also somewhat awkwardly—no doubt used to my curls) and the whole time she was apologizing…

She left me. By myself. To rule Oz and think she was dead and pick up her mess. I'm still beside myself at that. I'm more hurt than words can possibly describe. How could she do that to me? How could she think that any amount of apology could make up for ten years of potions and pills and hysteria treatments and… well, ten years of hell?

Elphaba and I talked…we went to the soup kitchen and I got us food (she needs a week or three of solid meals—she's skin and bones) and then we went to the Animal shelter I knew would be safe and we (I) rented a room and talked.

We talked about so many things… We talked and we fought…

Fiyero is also alive, apparently. He spirited Elphaba away from that wretched tower and helped her heal her wounds. I got so angry about that. I had thought the Gale Force had murdered him, too…

Elphaba had to relearn how to walk, to speak, to dress… Fiyero helped with that, I'm sure… but after she had healed she left him… Oz knows where Fiyero is now. I'll have to look into it discreetly.

Elphie traveled the world after that, a specter among the living, until she returned to Oz two years ago…and she wandered into the Emerald City. She had no idea what day it was until she heard my speech broadcast over a communal radio.

She told me all of this, and it was practically light by the time she had finished. I had to go before the change of the guard…it was the hardest thing I have ever done. Knowing Elphaba, she won't be there tomorrow. I told her to stay put, so I can find her tomorrow, so I can bring her supplies…I hope she listened.

When I left she kissed me goodbye…I'd forgotten how wonderful it was to kiss her. I'm not ashamed to admit I kissed her back.

I've missed her so. And as angry as I am that she left me….I'm so very thankful she made her way back to me in the end.

I've got to go—it is almost time for me to be woken properly. I haven't slept, but I will have to soldier through the day. And then I need to go out and fetch supplies for Elphaba. She can't stay in the city, not for very long.

Imagine if word got out that she had survived after all… this time, she might not survive the witch hunt that comes for her.

* * *

**Supply list for Elphaba:**

Find the Grimmerie ?

Find her broom ?

A new dress (black)

New cloak (black)

New boots (10 — black)

Gloves, leather and cloth (black)

Pants (black)

Medical salves & supplies

Money

Food

A bag to put it all in (black)


End file.
